The Letter
by Medie
Summary: Malcolm gets a surprise from an old friend...a letter.


Title: The Letter  
Author: Medie  
E-mail: medison@thezone.net  
Feedback: oh yes yes yes yes yes! (that answer your question? *G*)  
Rating: G  
Keywords: Reed fic. Some R/H friendship. (And that's all it is folks.*G*)  
Summary: Malcolm gets a surprising letter  
Disclaimers: Enterprise belongs not to Paramount. Not me. Otherwise, *happy  
sigh* I'd be filthy stinkin' rich! *G* Heather Grayson does belong to me but  
her family lineage does not.   
Author's Notes: This is my first Malcolm fic so understandably, his  
'speaking' parts are minimal, I want to make sure I've got him down before I  
have him doing a lot of talking.*G* So be gentle!  
  
About Heather, as I said above, her family doesn't belong to me as Heather's  
brother will become, if my calculations about the timeline are right, Amanda  
Grayson's grandfather and Spock's great-grandfather. Just thought it would be   
fun to tie the two Enterprises together a little. (Though, that idea is not  
mine. I blame Azar, a friend for it)   
  
As for the spelling of her surname, I've checked several sources. Some list  
Amanda's last name as being Greyson (like the novel Spock's World) while others  
(like IMDB.com and the Star Trek.com website) list it as being Grayson. So,   
given the 'official' source says Grayson, I'll go with that.  
  
And enough babbling. On with the fic!  
  
"The Letter"  
by M.  
-----  
  
Tuesday morning started out like any other for Malcolm Reed. He went about  
his morning's business like he always did before departing for the armory.  
Though they had not had much trouble with the Phase Cannons, he still found  
himself constantly monitoring them. The risk they had taken with the power   
input had been well worth it but he had no intentions of allowing his   
vigilance about possible surges to lax, despite any of the redundancies he'd  
set into place. One could never be too careful, after all.  
  
The quiet of his routine, however, was not meant to last.   
  
"Lieutenant?"  
  
Surprised, the Englishman turned to smile a greeting at Hoshi. "Good morning,  
Ensign; may I help you?"  
  
She smiled and shook her head. "Other way around, actually." Holding out a   
data chip, the Communications officer's smile widened. "You have a letter."  
  
"A letter?" His eyebrows rose in interest and he took it. "From whom?"  
  
"I didn't look." Her dark eyes sparked with curiosity. "I didn't know you   
had friends on Vulcan."  
  
"Vulcan?" Malcolm's face filled with puzzlement. "I don't know anyone on   
Vulcan."   
  
"Well that's where it was sent from. A city called Shi'Kahr." Backing toward  
the door, Hoshi added. "It came in with the usual reports from Vulcan but   
was marked for you. Enjoy!" With the final, cheery remark, the slim woman   
ducked through the door.  
  
Sitting down, he slipped the letter into the reader and flicked the switch.  
  
"Hello Malcolm."  
  
The lightly husking tones brought his head up with such force that he nearly  
banged his head against the wall behind him.  
  
Hitting pause, he stopped the letter before it could go any further and   
pulled the yellow chip free. Staring at it, his gaze became uncharacteristically  
affectionate. "Heather . . . "  
  
How many years had it been since he'd seen her?   
  
Heather Grayson had been a young, idealistic, diplomatic aide when he'd met her  
in San Francisco. She'd just received an assignment to work with the Vulcans   
at their compound and had been positively giddy at the prospect. An   
anthropologist by training, she'd decided against teaching in favor of   
diplomatic work and the assignment, for her, had been a dream come true.   
  
In Malcolm's eyes, the idea of such a vital and warm young woman surrounding  
herself with cold and unfeeling Vulcans was almost criminal. Friends had agreed  
with him but Heather had been unmoved. She'd found her work and apparently, it  
had paid off. She was living on Vulcan.  
  
Shaking free of his memories, the dark-haired man returned his letter to the reader.   
  
"It's been a long time, hasn't it?" She laughed then and he closed his eyes,   
calling up the image that went with it. It had been several years but he could  
still see her blue eyes lighting up with laughter and her honey-blonde locks   
shaking with it. "I know that contacting you like this is a bit . . . unexpected  
but I know what it's like to be so far from Earth so I thought it couldn't hurt."   
  
"No," he agreed, thinking of his strained relationship with his parents. "It  
certainly couldn't."  
  
"When the Ambassador told me you'd been assigned to Enterprise, I couldn't  
have been happier." Another laugh. "I think the staff here thought I was losing  
my mind. I let out a rather . . . unseemly shout. The way the halls in this   
place echo, I'm sure they all heard me too. So, if I get sent back to Earth   
due to supposed mental instability, it's your fault. T'Theilah, one of the   
House staff who helps me with the Ambassador's work correspondence, approached  
me about an hour afterwards, wondering about my 'illogical outburst.' The poor  
woman didn't know what to make of it. They often don't you know. I confuse   
them terribly."   
  
He chuckled. Heather had always been an expressive woman. He suspected she'd  
left her Vulcan coworkers quite at their wits' end more than once with an   
'illogical' outburst. She'd left *him* in that state many times during   
their . . . acquaintance.  
  
"But really, Malcolm, it was the best news I'd had since Ambassador Selish  
asked me to come to Vulcan with him. Enterprise! One of my dearest friends  
is assigned to Enterprise! I take *great* delight in pointing that out whenever  
I get the chance. That's not often, mind you, but it's the thought that counts."  
  
It was surprising how that news affected him. Someone taking *pride* in his   
accompolishments. On some level - he hoped - his parents were proud of him   
but they'd never said so and he couldn't possibly imagine Father going so   
far as to make it a point of telling others that his son was Enterprise's   
armory officer. The thought couldn't be farther from his mind. Yet, now he   
knew that light years away, there was a human woman going about a city on Vulcan,  
telling people that her friend Malcolm was assigned to Enterprise.  
  
The thought warmed him.  
  
"They humor my enthusiasm. Selish actually says he finds it *refreshing* if   
you believe him. It's hard to tell when that man is kidding or not. Oh, make  
no mistake Malcolm, Vulcans do have a sense of humor. It's there...but you   
have to look for it. *Really* look for it," A soft chuckle punctuated her   
words. "God, Malcolm, they are a fascinating bunch. I could spend my life   
studying these people. I can't begin to tell you the number of misconceptions  
we have about them on Earth. We've done these people a great disservice,   
Malcolm. A great disservice. But then, they're not entirely innocent either.  
You wouldn't *believe* the questions I've gotten about Earth and humans....  
Granted, they're a good deal more polite about asking those questions than a  
human would be, but the ignorance is still there...I know you have a Vulcan   
serving on your ship with you...make an effort to get to know her, please?   
We can't let this continue as is. For both our peoples' sakes..."  
  
The emotion in her voice didn't surprise him. She'd always felt deeply about  
things, and that she'd come to care about Vulcans this way was typically Heather.  
She wasn't a fool though. She knew it wouldn't be easy. So many mistakes made   
on both sides...it wouldn't be easy to overcome.  
  
"Listen to me," Heather laughed again. "God, I must sound positively preachy.  
Don't worry, I'm not going native on you. This place is *far* too hot for my  
tastes. The Vulcan Science Academy actually made this special suit for me to  
wear when I first got here. They call it a 'Cool Suit'. Wearing it protects   
my body from the beastly hot temperatures...And God, Malcolm, it gets *hot*   
here. I'm not talking tropical temperatures either...think the middle of the  
Sahara at the hottest it can get and then add twenty or thirty degrees. It's  
*incredible*! I'm surprised the Vulcan compound on Earth was built where it   
is. To be anything resembling comfortable they should be living in the middle   
of the Nevada desert. No wonder Selish always complained of cold when we were  
working in San Francisco." She paused and he caught himself leaning forward   
to hear her next sentence. A gesture that brought him back to all the shared  
meals at that little café in San Francisco, heads together in the corner over  
a large plate of french fries - Heather's one true vice - talking about all   
manner of things.   
  
He missed that.   
  
He missed Heather.  
  
"Wipe that smile off your face, Malcolm Reed." She ordered suddenly. "Don't  
think I don't know what you're thinking. She babbles as much now as she did  
then. Well, I'll have you know, I've become positively reserved compared to  
how chatty I used to be. I guess...It's just....Well, I've been a little   
lonely. Vulcans don't do small talk. Almost everything they say has a purpose."  
  
"As I've well learnt." He murmured in agreement. Sometimes it seemed as if   
T'Pol barely said two words in a day. Unless, that is, some scientific puzzle  
had been handed to her. Then she said hundreds...but few were understandable  
to anyone not in possession of a PhD in whatever science she was immersed in  
at that moment. Rather reminded him of his mother with her gardenias. No one  
could quite understand her when she got going.  
  
"I almost left when I first got here. You know me, I'm an...expressive person  
and the natural reserve of the Vulcans makes that hard. They humor me but that  
only goes so far. Selish has noticed it, I think, he was the one who asked if  
I wanted to send you a letter in the next packet. Vulcans can be decidedly   
observant when they want to be. And he wants to be. For a man of his age,   
little gets by him."  
  
"Remind me to send that man a thank you note." Malcolm decided. This had been  
a most pleasant surprise to get. He wondered idly if this Ambassador she spoke  
so highly of had known the result it would have on him. The Vulcans did seem   
to be masters of finding out things they weren't supposed to know. "It's been  
frightfully good to hear from you Heather."  
  
As if she'd heard him, her voice gentled as she said. "I sincerely hope you   
have time to respond to this, Malcolm. It's been so long since I heard your   
voice. I want to know how you're doing on Enterprise. I want to know all   
about it. Well, what you can tell me anyway. I'm sure Starfleet's restricted  
what you can and can't talk about. They do seem to love their security. But...I  
miss you. I've missed you for a while now. This is just the first chance I've   
really had to dwell on it. Say, if you ever get the chance...swing by Vulcan   
for a visit. I'll play tour guide. I think you'd like some of the ancient sites  
here. Vulcan's history is a lot richer than they let on, I'll tell you that much."   
  
She paused again and he knew the letter was coming to an end, not that he wanted  
it to.   
  
"I should go." A rueful sigh. "You wouldn't believe how much work can pile up in  
one morning. The Vulcans are fond of their paperwork. Take care, Malcolm. Please.  
I...I'd hate to hear something happened to you out there. Especially not before  
we get the chance to meet up again. Remember, you promised to take me to England.  
Show me the sights. I'm holding you to that Mr. Reed, so don't you forget it."  
  
Malcolm chuckled. "Never." He directed an amused glance at the letter. "Not that  
you would let me even if I tried."  
  
"Miss you dreadfully," Heather added with a softer tone. "Love you...Bye."  
  
"Bye." He echoed, removing the letter from the reader and leaning back against   
the wall, pressing the edge lightly against his chin. A letter from Heather   
Greyson. Of all the people he'd expected to get a letter from, she'd been the  
last one on his mind.  
  
But now? Now he was having a very hard time erasing her smiling face from his  
thoughts.   
  
God, it'd been good to hear her voice. He'd forgotten how much he loved hearing  
it. She'd been a delight to have around and his feelings - though he'd never  
dared give voice to them - had been, and still remained, quite...strong.   
  
"Bridge to Armory."   
  
T'Pol's crisp tones intruded upon his reverie and the Englishman looked up, not  
quite sure who'd spoken at first. He'd been so deep in thought, he'd barely   
noticed. But when the Vulcan repeated her words, he hurried to answer.   
  
"Yes, Sub-Commander..."  
  
Though he followed T'Pol's requests exactly as she'd expected and with his   
typical efficency, Malcolm had to admit, his thoughts weren't on his work.   
Not entirely. Part of him was already working on that reply.  
  
He wanted to see what else there was to hear and say in all this. He'd yet   
to compose his own reply, nevermind sending it, and already he was anticipating  
her response.   
  
It was becoming clear, just why mail from home was so important to his crewmates.  
  
He hadn't understood before....  
  
But he did now.  
  
He did now.  
  
  
Finis  
  
(Malcolm's reply is in the works!) 


End file.
